


At All Costs

by Emmalie22



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Bullying, High School, Hurt Peter, Peter-centric, Sassy Peter, Science, Science Bros, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, photographer peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmalie22/pseuds/Emmalie22
Summary: Peter's aunt has passed away after battling cancer, and Peter finds himself alone in the world. Join him on his journey to self discovery. AU, set somewhere in the middle between movie verse and comics. GEN, may become super family. Non linear narrative structure.





	1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel property. I do not make any money off of this.

CHAPTER ONE

JANUARY 2014

Peter hated himself for the complete and utter relief he felt with his Aunt May's death. Oh, he had sobbed and cried, and was still numb from the pain of it all, but somewhere deep inside of him felt relief. The guilt of that feeling killed him.

He missed his Aunt. He wished she was still alive, but the fact that he was not the cause of her death have him such a profound feeling of catharsis, that Peter was sure he would burn in hell despite not being religious.

She had died of cancer. The terrible painful type that there was no coming back from.

And it wasn't Peter's fault; and he didn't have to feel guilty over it.

He remember her sitting him down, and telling him of her prognosis. She had kept it to herself for far too long, but far be it for him to get mad at her for a secret. There had been no theatrics, and she told him with her usual no nonsense tone.

Peter cried then, and it would be the first of many. He was still fourteen, God damn it, and as much responsibility that he had taken on, he knew he was still a child in many ways. He wanted a mother like figure in his life, but the longer he lived, the more he realized that he got less of what he wanted, and none of what he deserved. He just got what life handed to him, bad or good, it just was and Peter was forced to deal with it.

She had told him that she would find him a suitable guardian for him, but both of them knew it was unlikely. Most of his aunt's friends where old and the last thing Peter wanted was being a burden.

Then there was the whole trouble of the status of Peter's guardianship. His parents had never been declared legally dead and his Aunt and Uncle had never formally adopted him.

In the eyes of the law, he was still under his parents care. It had never been looked into because his Aunt and Uncle's treatment had never caused any questions, and on school papers he always put his aunt and uncle as temporary guardians. The innocent part of him had hoped that was true. Looking back on it, he wished he had pursued adoption. They were much better parents to him than his real mom and dad had been.

So Peter was in a quandary.

While his Aunt was at the hospital, he had assured his Aunt that Gwen's family had gladly taken him in. That was not the case, he hadn't asked, and Gwen didn't even know about his Aunt's condition.

He lived at the apartment, and in the wake of her death, Peter realized he was a homeless fourteen year old.

Peter hated black. He hated it to his core. He was the color type, just like his costume. Blacks at a funeral were no different.

His aunt's best friend came up to him. "I'm so sorry Peter. Her death was so sudden."

"Me too," Peter intoned.

"Who are you staying with? They taking care of you." She asked kindly.

Peter almost said no one, but he bit the inside of his mouth.

"Friends," he answered instead, "her family was very kind to take me in."

"A girl friend," she smiled weakly.

Peter blushed. Gwen and him had grown apart since the bite. Between discovering his powers, decided to become a superhero, and trying to keep up with his outrageous class schedule, Peter had lost his social life.

Gwen had drifted apart, joining clubs and exploring high school, and Harry had been sent away to a French boarding school after his father found him drunk off of Whiskey at 2am on a Tuesday night.

Peter blamed himself.

It didn't rain at her funeral, and in fact, it was annoyingly hot for a New York day. Hot and uncomfortable at the graveside when insufficient words were given to describe the amazing person his Aunt once was.

Peter took another sharp inhale.

His Aunt's friend put a hand on his shoulder.

The crowd cleared, a few church goer friends of hers, the neighborhood cards group she was apart of, his neighbor, and even a couple of Uncle Ben's friends had showed.

Peter stayed until they had all cleared. A million I'm sorries were given to him, but Peter knew that no matter how sorry they were, it wouldn't match his pain.

He stumbled back to his- former- apartment. There was a notice on the door. Everything needed to be cleared by the next week.

Peter woke up the sound of the phone going off.

He had to cancel the phone payment, and Internet, and utilities, and everything that constituted as a life.

He answered, "Hello," wondering who would call the apartment.

"Good," a man's voice filtered through the phone, "I wasn't sure if I could get ahold of anyone."

Peter didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

"Is this Peter Parker?" The man asked.

"Yes."

"I'm calling from Liberty Mutual to discuss your Aunt's will. Is there any chance you and your guardian can come in today."

"He works today," Peter answered, "but I can come in."

"I'm sorry Peter, but that's not protocol."

Peter licked his lips. He needed an excuse. He didn't want to go to the foster system. He knew that much.

Peter forced himself, without much difficulty, to sound choked up and blubbered, "Can we please get this done. I don't want to drag it on. Everyone wants to talk and talk some more about it. I just want to be done."

The man sighed at Peter's crying. Yes, some of it was exaggerated but Peter was exhausted and needed to be done with this all.

"I guess I can break protocol this once, but Peter," the man voice was kind, "you need to discuss her death. It sounds like you are really hurting."

Peter nodded then realized the man couldn't see him. He cleared his voice, and told the man quietly, "I will, but she was like a mom to me."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Can you come in at three this afternoon?"

Peter had eight hours before the meeting. He needed to pawn most of the house so he had money to at the very least buy his way through a couple of days at a shady motel.

He had around a grand saved up for a rainy day, and if this wasn't a rainy day, he didn't know what was.

He stood looking at the room wide eyed for a second before he dashed into action, spurned on by a sudden sense of urgency.

First there was jewelry. She had been buried with her ring, pearls, and diamond earrings. Peter wouldn't have wanted to sell that anyways.

He had this morning and tomorrow to clear things out before he had to be back at school on Monday. He had requested a Saturday funeral from the church that his Aunt went to, partially because it was convenient for everyone, and partially so he didn't have to explain to school why he was missing.

So two days. He grabbed a couple of a couple of shopping bags. He would rotate pawn shops, so he wouldn't get too ripped off. He grabbed most of the jewelry and put it in one bag. He packed up the China knowing that that would be best to take to a consignment store.

He thought about typing up an add for the fridge, washer, and dryer, but- as much money as he could get for them- he would need those for wherever he ended up. Peter needed to figure out what he was going to do with them until he found a place.

With that thought, Peter spent the next thirty minutes typing up a flyer for the master bedroom set, the dining set, the couch, and the bookshelves.

They were decent quality and he tried to show that through the photos he took. He added his cell number to the sheets. He would post it at the coffee shop and hopefully someone would call before Peter had to be out. Hopefully one of them would sell because Peter needed the money.

He would eventually have to cancel his cell payment, but he needed to get control of money first. He had around a grand in savings, but that would probably not last him the first month or two.

There was a few crystal vases, the silverware, all of his aunts clothing, Peter's mind raced. He felt a sense of urgency he didn't know was possible. The grief inside of him had gone numb. He felt like he was betraying her in some ways, but he knew his aunt would have wanted the best for him.

There was a franticness to his mind. As if he was solving a particularly hard Chemistry problem. The time was running out on the clock and yet Peter felt the need to just close his eyes and stop for a moment.

Standing in the apartment, Peter realized that beyond the grief and confusion he was feeling, that there was also a sense of freedom. Peter was completely alone in the world. But he was also completely alone.

There was no one to depend on him. No one to die because of him. He did not have a single person in the world whom loved him unconditionally, and yet it was freeing.

He felt lonely and sick. Hatred of himself bubbled up over this relief he was feeling because of his aunt's death. Hatred of himself bubbled up because every person in the world who was supposed to love and protect him had died, so therefore must have been something wrong with him.

Peter was lonely and alone, feeling relief and free, and standing in the middle of his aunt's apartment that he had lived in the entirety of his life. Memories surged back to him. Good ones when he had someone who cared for him.

Peter cried for the first time since his aunt had died. He was fourteen. He missed her. He wished he had his mom back.

That franticness about how he was going to survive was real. Peter may have been a superhero, but he was still a child. A child crushed against the world forced to grow up.

....

Been sitting on this for awhile and thought I may as well post the stuff I've written. I have the next chapter done and am working on completing the third. Would love to have some feedback. Hope you enjoyed.

-Emm


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So as I said in the summary, this will be a non-linear narrative. We will go back and forth between lost fourteen-year-old Peter and seventeen-year-old him. Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: no, sadly these properties are not mine, as much as I would wish them to be. I don't make any money off of it either.

CHAPTER TWO

DECEMBER 2016

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Steve asked, as they stared at the door. It was the top story of a Brooklyn apartment complex, probably some sort of loft.

It was probably overkill to have most of the Avengers team come to the meeting, but Black Widow had been sent to interrogate this man Peter Parker and Tony, who was interested in the man's research decided to tag along.

Then so did Steve because he had "nothing better to do," and then Brucie decided that he wanted to talk to the man about this bio-mechanical research he was doing. Maybe not the entire Avengers. Clint and Thor had sat this one out.

"My hacking skills are the best in the world spangles," Tony told him, "I've never been more sure except when that one time with the twin models from January edition and even then."

"Tony," Bruce chided.

They knocked on the door first. The man who they had tracked down was registered under Peter Parker in the company database. He was registered at the owner of the company and held many of the patents. The biotech company was up and coming and focused more on genetic manipulation and biology studies than Tony's company or it would have made it onto his register much earlier.

The tech they created was beautiful and undoubtedly saved millions of lives already. From what Tony could gather, if anyone had a shot at curing cancer, it was this think tank. Tony was impressed and it took a lot to get him impressed.

Hopefully he could court the owner into becoming an auxiliary of Stark Industries.

They knocked again and no one answered.

"We can't just leave," Tony said with a frown. He was a busy guy and he had arranged his schedule for this. Or rather, he had told Peper he would be doing this and she had sighed and arranged his schedule for him.

Natasha grinned and leaned against the door. She did something with her hands and probably picked the lock lighting fast. The door clicked open.

She said, "I have no idea how that happened. It was just unlocked."

Tony snorted. Steve looked uncomfortable, and Bruce looked between everyone as if trying to figure out where he stood.

"Well," Tony trapezed forward and pushed the door partially open, "I for one, am going in."

Then a voice came from inside the room. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Tony blinked, "What?"

"There are biotech sensors on the ground. The second you walk through that door you will be shot with a tranquilizing gun and the police will be informed of your transgression." The voice on the other side of the door sighed. "Let me disable them."

Then a pause, "Alright come in." The voice sounded resigned as if he was annoyed and yet expecting the group.

Tony and co entered the flat with precaution. First thing that struck him was how beautiful the interior was. All exposed brick, there were only curtains hanging or glass panels to separate the rooms. On the far wall he could see a large flat screen TV with a surrounding area more set into the ground. To his left there was a beautiful state of the art kitchen, and in the corner there was an amazing computer setup that Tony would love to get his hands on. On the surrounding benches there were a could of experiments. The entire corner was glassed in with a biohazard sign handing on what looked like the pressurized entrance.

For a small interior lab, it was gorgeous. There was a lot of natural lighting shining into it and a figure with their back turned to them.

Between the kitchen on the left and the lab in the corner there was a long table set up with textbooks sitting on top of it. That seemed strange to Tony, and he briefly wondered if this man had a child.

To his right, there was a curtain that was entirely pushed back. There was another set of computer in the right corner with a million screens, and a bed directly to his right. It was very low to the ground, and the space felt very open and modern. Between the bed and the computers there was an open mat with a punching back and double bars. A sink was attached to the wall and it looked like the perfect space to spar.

Overall, it seemed like something that Tony would pick out for a loft. Gorgeous, expensive, and yet not flashy. It was a practical living space owned by someone who had money.

The group made their way to the lab. The individual had on a long white coat. "Give me two minutes," he said, and his voice picked up in the speaker system of the apartment. Ah, Tony realized that that was why the voice sounded so strange at the door.

Natasha eyed the man and seemed to be suspicious, but wasn't she always. Tony walked to the long table next to the lab noticing a camera that was sitting on it. There was a small laptop that it was plugged into. Tony recognized it as self built and wondered how good the man was with technology.

It was a beautiful camera. Tony picked it up.

"Please don't touch that," the man said. Tony glanced up.

The man had turned around in the lap and Tony blinked. He could hear a little noise of confusion from Bruce.

Steve stepped forward. The man that had been working in the lap seemed not to be a man but a boy about sixteen or seventeen. His hair was wild looking and the lab coat made him seem like a child playing dress-up.

He shrugged off the coat, hung it up on a hook inside of the glass walls, and pressed his hand on the inside of the glass making a print and opening the door.

He was dressed like a traditional nerdy hipster. With big glasses, dark jeans, and a button up top.

"Mr. Stark, please don't touch that."

"Huh," Tony flipped the thing around in his hands. It was a fairly small camera. He saw the markings for Hasselblad H4D 200 MS. Tony kept that in mind.

"Please," the boy sounded insistent. Tony rolled his eyes and set it down on the table.

Steve stepped forward. "I'm sorry we umm…"

"Broke into my apartment," the kid supplied with a deadpan.

"Yes, umm that, but we have a couple of questions to ask your father if you don't mind." Steve stood there awkwardly hunched over.

"There would be quite difficult as seeing that my father is dead," the boy remarked.

Steve opened his mouth and to probably give out an apology when Natasha decided to streamline the process and just spit it out. "We want to talk to Peter Parker. He is a hard man to find.

The boy nodded and said, "Okay, sit down. Do you want anything? Water? Coffee? I would offer something stronger but I'm not old enough myself."

They stared at each other and Tony grinned, "That never stopped me, but I think we're okay."

The made a whatever gesture and sat down at the table. The rest of the Avengers followed.

The kid got right to the point, "So what do you want from me?"

Natasha gave him a look and said, "Peter Parker?"

"Yes," the kid looked at her like no fucking kidding.

Tony's jaw dropped. "No way, you're what fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Seventeen," Peter Parker glared at him, "But at least I'm not an old man."

"Mr. Parker," Natasha started, "It says here that you are the owner of the Benjamin Richard Company."

"I went to great lengths not to make that public knowledge, but yes, that is true." Peter picked up the camera in front of him and almost as if by habit started to take it apart.

Bruce spoke up, "Peter, I think what we are trying to understand is how a multimillion dollar corporation and business is owned by a seventeen year old. You're not even out of high school as far as we know and you have patents in your name that are in every hospital in the United States."

Peter suddenly looked excited, "Bruce Banner! Mr. Banner, it's so exciting to meet you. You are my absolute idol. You're work on how gamma radiation interacts with molecular structure was groundbreaking. I would love to get your insights on a couple things that I'm working on."

Tony made an indignant sound. "What am I? A wall flower."

"Mr. Stark," the boy glared, "you played with my camera."

Peter frowned at the ground and glanced them all over. He sighed and shifted in his seat so that he was criss-crossed. He looked even more like a child.

"Although I don't know how this is Avenger's business, I started the company just over a year ago. I had a couple of patents to my name and I wanted to mass produce them. It just grew. Yes, I am still in high school, but I don't understand how any of this should be your concern. You should be out saving the world not looking into nerdy teenagers trying to help modern medicine. I'm not doing anything bad and I'm diligent as following a human process for every bit of research we do. If you want to look at company policy, you are more than welcome." The boy sounded earnest.

"I do," Tony said, "but I also would love it if you and your corporation became auxiliaries of mine. You are clearly brilliant and I will put any money you want into whatever research you want."

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark," Peter looked a little overwhelmed. "I would actually like to keep BRC in my own hands. I worked really hard for it to be successful."

"Hmph," Tony grunted, "Offer still stands."

"I think that is besides the point. Mr. Parker, Peter. Do you mind if I call you Peter?"

"Sure," the boy blushed. It was obvious from the way that he was avoiding looking at Captain America that he had been trying to keep his cool.

"Peter, what we want to know is how one of your parents fell into Spider-Man's hands. One of your first one's in fact. A biochemically engineered thread that is supposed to work with the human body. It's impossibly thin and strong and yet degrades over time." Right now it was being used at one of the main threads to treat internal wounds. Honestly, it was one of the Company's biggest patents and it was derived from the formula he used in his own webslingers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter scrunched up his face in confusion.

"Spider-Man's web substance is an almost perfect match for what you sell. A few of the genetic markers are off but incredibly easy to change. It's a brilliant substance, but we just want to know if you gave it to Spider-Man?"

Peter shook his head, "No." He almost added on it must be a coincidence, but there were too many scientists in the room to believe that lie.

"Peter," Steve urged on.

"I mean, I'm trying to think here. Maybe he stole it? The media does villainize him," Peter tried to waylay blame.

"Peter," Natasha started, "It seems you disagree with the media's take on Spider-man."

Peter shrugged helplessly. "I go to school in Midtown. I'm New York raised and bred. It's hard to hate the guy that saved a couple of my friends. That being said, I have no idea how he got his hands on the substance."

"Well," Tony glanced around the apartment, "I'm not going to accuse you of stealing it from him."

Peter smiled sheepishly. "If you need anything else, I'm here to help. Otherwise, I have an experiment I was in the middle of and would like to get back to it before it blows up on me."

The two scientists in the room winced internally. They knew how those things went. Natasha looked like she had more questions to pry out of the boy, but Captain America made the decision.

"Thank you for your help Peter. Please get in touch if you remember anything pertaining to Spider-man."

Peter looked at the group as if exhausted and far beyond his years. "I will," he said, and turned his back to the superheros to make his way back to the lab.

Tony noticed something as he was walking out the door. The artwork that Peter had hung up on his walls was from impossible angles where no human being could possibly go. Either Peter was lying, and Spider-man had taken the photography, or there was some other explanation that was escaping Tony. Tony bet on the first. It seemed that this would not be the last they would be seeing of the brilliant young man.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So not a lot happens in this chapter, but Peter's grieving process will take a long time. Have exciting things planned for ya'll for next chapter. Isn't young Peter just adorable. Tell me if you like it! Or if you don't, those are helpful too. Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Emm

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-man. Most obviously, and I would very much not like to be sued.

CHAPTER THREE

JANUARY 2014

Peter sat in the office silent.

"Do you understand?" the man asked.

Peter nodded. There wasn't much to understand. His aunt had very little; a small account was set aside for him to go to college on, but nothing that he could access at this age.

"Now, this will be held in a trust until you turn eighteen. You were renting the apartment, so there is no equity on the house. She left everything to you. Now, it says here that you live with your aunt, but official guardianship hasn't changed from your parents." Peter blinked. He didn't know they were still legally alive.

It made sense, they hadn't reported them missing because, as far as his aunt and uncle knew, his parents weren't missing. They just left. His aunt and uncle had never formally adopted him.

That meant that the was essentially a ghost in the system. His parents were supposedly still alive to take care of them, even though Peter knew with his entire heart that they were dead. He would have hoped that they would have come back for them if they weren't.

Peter cleared his throat, "I'm living with a friend right now, but my mom is coming to get me. She wants to make amends."

The man gave him a look as if he was worried. "Do I need to get child services involved?" he asked the young boy.

Peter shook his head, "No, she went through a period where she was heavily addicted to cocaine. She dropped me off at my aunt and uncle's when I was four. She's been clean for almost six years now. We talk on the phone a lot, but I didn't want to leave New York."

Peter felt guilty at the lie. His mother had been a good person, or so he thought. He, however, didn't feel that guilty.

Child services scarred him. For one, it would put his Spider-man days in serious jeopardy. Having to explain to a foster parent why he was out at all hours of the night would not be good. Secondly, Peter did not want to have to care for someone. If the person did end up being a good foster parents, then he was likely to put them in danger.

Every parent Peter had ever had died or disappeared. At some point, he had to realize he was the common thread.

"Well that is all. The number I have on here is the cell I called you on. Can you confirm that it is yours." Peter nodded.

"Alright, we will be in touch. Feel free to stop by at any time to talk about finances. In four years we will contact you and you will be able to access all of the money your aunt left in your name."

"Thank you," Peter said simply.

"And Peter," the man said before Peter got up to walk out the door, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Me too."

….

Peter had one phone call when he got out of the meeting. A person named Joe who wanted to meet up at the Starbucks he had left the flyer at. The man was a recent college graduate and probably needed furniture.

He had shaggy hair and a blue volkswagen van. Peter didn't ask very many questions.

"So," the man looked him over as if trying to figure out why a young teenager would be selling a couch set.

"I want nothing less than eight hundred for the sofa and chair set." Peter said quietly and readjusted his glasses. Despite his vision being perfect, he figured he had to wear them around his aunt to keep up appearances.

"Six hundred," the man countered.

"Seven hundred," Peter replied, "and I'll help you take it down to your van."

The man snorted, "Sure kid," and Peter shrugged.

Seven hundred was completely worth it a stranger being baffled at his strength. It's not like he had given the man his real name.

….

School on Monday was blissfully short and easy. Peter went to a school that had a block system where he would go to four classes on one day and another four on the other.

On Mondays, they got out at one o'clock. AP Chem was boring and easy; he slept through AP Physics II; and Clac AB constituted him casually talking notes the entire time and yawing. His aunt got him a private tutor when he was eight, feeling bored in school, and when she asked his teacher if he could be challenged more his teacher said to get him the workbooks at the store.

His aunt, being the wonderful woman she was, knew that that would not satisfy Peter. So, she got a nerdy junior in high school two doors over to give him science lessons everyday after school. For the next four years, Peter was first taught by the guy- Jackson was cool and incredibly nerdy- taught him to code, build computers, and eventually Jackson had him doing his work- both in college and high school- as practice. Safe to say, by the time Peter was twelve and Jackson left for a four year university- he had spent two years at a junior college- he knew most of the high school and some entry level science courses.

Peter then took free sourced online classes from colleges for fun because he was that much of a nerd, and worked with his inventions on the side. Jackson and he had lost touch, but he was grateful that his aunt had practically paid a babysitter to be his friend for four years.

Peter at lunch was bombarded with the robotics club.

"Pete," Jacob had a slight accent and loomed much taller than him. A senior this year who had moved to America when he was younger from South Africa, Peter found him fun and hilarious. Jacob was the type of nerdy one wanted to be. Smart, but somehow much cooler than everyone.

"Hi Jacob," he folded into himself. He wasn't quite ready for socializing yet.

"Are you going to come out to meetings again. You're always welcome with us." Peter smiled at his kindness. Robotics meetings were Friday nights from seven to nine. Peter could hypothetically come to them and then go out right after, but he usually used Fridays as free nap time. With no homework to do, Peter didn't have to worry about staying up, he could nap until it was time to go out and fight crime.

It was a good system, that had nothing to do with his introversion and awkwardness.

He liked robotics meeting when he went for the first two, he just felt out of place at them. He was only underclassman who showed up, and yet, he ended up helping everyone build theirs. He was mortified rather than smug, as a couple of seniors smarted off about him showing off.

"Thank you," he told Jacob, "I think on it." Peter knew he probably wouldn't go. This Friday he would be kicked out of his apartment, he had very import issues in his life at this moment.

Jacob smiled at him, "Of course, and if you come I'll talk to the guys. Nobody will say anything. It's your fault a little baby freshman schooled them."

Peter both wanted to laugh and cringe. Then he got a glint in his eye, "Well, they have to be put in their place sometimes."

The bell rang a few minutes later and Peter went to his photography class just a little bit lighter.

….

"You should sell those," the girl who sat next to him, Ashley, commented.

"What?" Peter asked.

"They're fucking amazing. You have a talent for graphic design. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Peter shook his head because no, he had always kept his head down in the call. His status as a photographer was kind of well know, especially after Shelby Jenkins, the homecoming Queen, had asked him to take photography of their group for the dance. Shelby had told him that she had watched him take photography at the football game and he looked like he knew what he was doing.

She didn't pay him much, which in retrospect was probably why she had asked him, but the pictures turned out fantastic and Peter had become someone of a gossip for a couple days. The nerdy freshman taking classes with seniors who was a fantastic photographer. That alone had put Flash off from bullying him for about a week.

"I don't know," Peter shook his head. He sat in the back corner of his photography class, put his headphones on and angled his computer away from the rest of the class.

His teacher didn't give much of a fuck about his students. In fact, Peter was pretty sure the man was high half the time. Every three Fridays, a new photo was due in an online turn in site. Peter was pretty sure the man had never looked at the photos for the kid who sat in front of him turned in a photo that he had lifted from online every Friday and played computer games the rest of the time.

Ashley did homework most of the class and a couple of girls would use the excuse of "going out and taking photography" to ditch the class consistently. Peter himself had done that twice so far, but in his case it was to go home and take a nap after a particularly hard time night of crime fighting.

That being said, Peter loved the class. His school had the most updated version of Photoshop and he would make almost memes out of the pictures he sold to the Daily Bugle. His pictures sent to J. J. Jameson would earn maybe fifty dollars a week, which had been huge for him when he was living with his aunt. Now, it was laughably bad.

The girl said, "Come on, you're the only person in the class that actually gives a fuck about it. You're fantastic at photography, but the entire school knows that, but I personally think you have a future in graphic design."

Peter swallowed hard, and then shrugged. "Thanks, I guess."

She said, "No problem," and turned back to the math she was working on. Peter put his headphones in and resolved not to think about anything but his photography for the next hour of class.

….

Later that afternoon he was standing in the middle of the place he had lived in for over ten years. The couch was gone. The armour was sitting in a middle and a middle class couple was coming to pick it up the next day. He had a haughty recent law graduate- as she was so eager to tell him-

coming to pick up his aunt's bed. The totality of his selling of of his aunt's possessions brought in a little over three hundred dollars.

Peter had calculated that he would have around twenty five hundred to three thousand dollars by the end of the week. Nothing much in NYC really, but much better than being on the streets with nothing. He needed his own apartment or studio, Peter knew that much.

Good side of town, bad side of town, it didn't matter. The Bronx, Harlem, Queens, as long as Peter could swing to school in less than a half hour, it would be worth it. Just something where no one else would see him change into Spider-man and he could put up some computers to continue to track crime and get a better algorithm for when he should be on the streets.

Peter took his laptop out and started to searched craigslist.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super fun to write. I really wanted to walk you guys through Peter's normal say before the shit hit the fan. Which it did now. Completely!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Emm

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-man, just saying. Wish I did.

CHAPTER FOUR

DECEMBER 2016

Peter morning started at school like always, despite going being mostly a formality. Peter only took two classes at his high school; his AP English class and his AP Economics class, both in the morning every other day. Those classes were the only ones he needed to graduate, and a couple of lawyers talking to his Principle resulted being allowed to take his jipped schedule.

Peter had taken every single AP math and science class offered by the end of his junior year. It was a mere formality of four years of Lit and a needed Econ class that he even still went high school.

Nonetheless, Peter entered school at seven forty three, two minutes before the bell rang. He meet Flash's eyes from across the courtyard, and they widened comically. Peter chuckled to himself.

Sliding into Lit class, Peter took out his homework and placed it on his desk. Peter was set to be valedictorian, and after his hellish sophomore and junior year and managing to keep up perfect As through the hard times, he knew he wasn't going to let it slip in his senior year.

That being said, Peter now felt a disconnect from his high school. He was planning on going to college yes, but more of a formality as he wanted to get his PhD. As the Avengers had so keenly pointed out, he owned a multi-million dollar corporation that took the biology field by storm.

Going to college wouldn't be necessary, but he wanted to.

His teacher arrived, harried like normal, and asked for the students to take out the novel they were reading. They were studying Faulkner's As I Lay Dying.

Reading that book made Peter feel substantially better about his life.

….

Gwen cornered him after class. She was beautiful as always, with her blonde hair perfectly framing her face and her eyes lit up with life.

Peter knew that they would never work out.

"Peter," she called out. Peter turned to her, calmly.

"Yeah?" He managed to keep the sarcasm and bitterness out of his voice. She looked like she had a million things to say and a million apologies on the tip of her tongue. Peter would be willing to listen to none of it.

"Where are you applying to college?" she asked. Peter's face turned into a frown.

She had broken their long silence for something so small. Peter sucked it up, "Columbia, Queens, RIT, Empire State. You know me, attached to the city." He said it quietly as if there was a joke inside of it. And there was.

She knew it. She opened her mouth to comment on it, paused, then finally said, "Of course." Her voice was fond. For a moment, Peter wanted to reach out and touch her, but he was stronger than that.

"I actually have to go Gwen. Things to do, you know." He turned to leave both the awkwardness and the intense feelings behind.

"Peter," she grabbed his arm. He turned to her. Finally she said, "I'm so sorry if that matters at all."

He shook his head. "I know you are. We're okay. I mean, we will never be okay. But I don't blame you."

Her eyes grew soft and she brushed a hair from her face. A deep shadow of relief passed over her, and she almost pleaded, "Thank you."

He nodded at her, not giving her much. That was life. It was rare to meet your soulmate in high school. Peter should have know that, but he fell hard.

She betrayed him when she lonely and low. Peter knew that there was blame to go around, life wasn't simple enough to put it all on one person.

"For what it means Gwen," he said to her. "I'm sorry too. I hope you find happiness."

She smiled at him. Walking away he heard her voice call out. "You're still an asshole Peter, but if you need anyone, you call me. Just because we're not banging doesn't mean that I won't stitch you back up." She meant it literally of course. Or maybe not.

He turned around a flipped her off. She laughed at him, perfectly framed against the brick. God, he loved Gwen. In another life, they would have been perfect together. But it wasn't another life, and he needed to move on.

He wouldn't call her though. He knew that much.

….

It wasn't even ten o'clock by the time Peter got to the office.

His doorman which doubled as one of his security guards greeted him, "Hey boss."

Peter smiled brightly, "Hi Arnold. How's your daughter. Wasn't she sick last week?" Peter remembered the Friday before Arnold had been out sick. Peter had been concerned and glanced at the file.

"She's doing much better. My wife was at her mother's and I didn't want to leave her at home alone. She's only seven you see." Arnold told him.

Peter nodded, and stated to him, "I'll have Biggs add another paid sick day to you file." Briggs headed the HR department for him. They didn't have ton of personnel, but enough to warrant an entire department.

Arnold laughed at, "Thanks boss, you're too nice you know that? I would be beyond proud if my girl turned out like you." Peter blushed so hard. It was an amazing compliment.

He couldn't suppress his desire to help people.

….

Peter didn't have the traditional office space. He formerly owned the company, but he had another as acting CEO. Peter got final say on issues that he had strong opinions on, but Peter didn't have the time to run the day to day. He officially headed the R&D department.

Peter had his own mini-lab that had a great view of the Empire State building. It had full wall to ceiling glass and Peter felt himself relaxing just stepping into the space. There was something extremely therapeutic about being in his lab, as if he could forget about it all and focus on his inventing.

Peter always had his phone hooked up to his computer system back home, and if anything major occurred, a level one or two threat in his system, he received an automated text and Peter could rush out to fight it.

He heard a knock on the door behind him. Peter turned around to open it. The acting CEO of his company, Marus Joeham.

Mark looked tired, as if he had a long day dealing with bullshit. Peter winced internally. "Hi Mike."

Mike was in his late fifties. He had three children, all of which were older than Peter. He exuded calm and strong demeanor. Peter felt bad for anyone who wronged Mark. The guy was a great CEO. He agreed with Peter about caring for their people and helped him cut through the usual bullshit of the medical science industry which was rampant with lobbyist and politics.

"Hey Peter, how was school?" Peter shrugged at him. School was school.

"What happened now?" Peter asked.

Mark sat down at the chair near the door. "Kaiser was holding us hostage for two billion dollars they wanted off, and I'm not against cutting costs for the sake of saving lives, but at that cost, it wouldn't even cover the processing fees of our material. They claim they can to go to Oscorp for the same materials. I kindly reminded them that the last time they did that that the shipment the recieved was defunct, they used it anyways, and then was sued five billion in a class action lawsuit." Peter remembered that. He had been particularly smug about that.

"What happened?" Peter asked. Losing Kaiser as a buyer wouldn't put them under, but it would set them back in quarter goals.

"They hung up with me, called back a half hour later and offered more than our original asking price. Seems I was able to talk some sense into them."

Peter watched Marcus grin like a shark. This was why the man dealt with the company stuff and not him. Marcus finished his story with, "I was planning on shifting the extra revenue into our HOPE find. What's your thoughts?"

Peter nodded slowly, "Yeah, that'll increase the amount we donate the quarter. Maybe we use it to sponsor some doctors along with the medical supplies." Every quarter, Peter and the company donated a bunch of the medical supplies they produced to foreign companies and small hospitals that would not be able to afford the life saving items. Mark had actually been the one to come up with the idea when they overproduced Peter's thread the first quarter.

Mark smiled at him, "I'll have Briggs look into it. Peter you look tired."

Peter sighed, "Yeah, I had a long night. I'm going to head out in about three or four hours. That cool?"

Mark laughed at him, "Peter, you know you sign my paycheck right?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm going to check in on everyone's process in a little bit too. Thanks for worrying Mark."

"Peter you are impossible not to worry over. You will always be the barely sixteen who came to me with this brilliant idea in my head. Try and get more time to yourself in the future."

"You say I lock myself in my lab too much," Peter exclaimed.

"Yeah, you work too much," Mark ribbed him.

Mark and him talked for a couple more minutes before Mark had to get back to actually running his business. Peter made a point to check in with everyone in R&D.

Jamie was working on a cure for diabetes with some sort of self induced healing. Gene stimulation. Richard had his head buried in something bubbling and grinning like a mad loom.

"Peter," he called out extremely loud. "Look what I came up with!"

"Richard," Peter yelled back in the same voice, "You're yelling!"

"Oh!" He exclaimed loudly, "Am I? I may have had an explosion in the lab earlier that was really loud."

"Don't kill yourself," Peter told him.

He shook his head frantically. "I won't." The he dragged Peter over to help him with his research. By the time two o'clock rolled around, Richard and Peter had managed two more explosions, but were that much closer to a breakthrough.

….

When Peter returned to his flat at three, he ate a small meal, and crashed for until ten o'clock like normal. Seven hours was better than normal. He sat at his kitchen and started did his Econ homework as he ate the equivalent of what would be his breakfast. He tried to keep ahead, and if had anything particularly hard, he would cut work short for the day.

Peter walked over to the computer set up in the corner of his flat. It showed that today had been relatively quiet. He had a rating system for cimes. Level One was rampaging mutant or villain. Level Two was manic individual with guns or gang violence against civilians with guns, Level Three was mugging or violent theft, and finally Level Four domestic violence, and Level Five was suspicious or negligent individual. There wasn't much Peter could do about muggings, theft, domestic violence, or suspicious individuals unless he was already in costume.

On the other hand, Peter always tried to react to Level One or Two if he could. Peter knew that he wasn't perfect, and that there were a lot of things out of his control, but he tired to control it the best he could, nonetheless.

Peter suited up, inserted his bluetooth headphones which was rigged to both the police scanned and his computer system which processed the information and informed him of anything else he should know. It was AI JARVIS level that Tony Stark had, but it was a pretty smart computer.

It was a much better system that he had at fourteen when he was just starting off.

Peter darted through the shadows for the night.

….

Five hours later at 4AM, Peter crawled back into bed for a small nap. He felt well rested, but it had been a fairly quiet night. He stopped two muggings and a warehouse theft. No super villains had showed up. Almost twenty four hours since he had gone to school on Monday, Peter felt content with his day. He liked the system he had carved out for himself.

And he got to nap, which was not a normal blessing.

As Peter slept in his loft, however, the world shifted and changed around him. Peter didn't know yet, but he would walk up the New York Times and Daily Bugle claiming: Peter Parker is Spider-Man and Spider-Man's Identity Revealed.

At that singular moment, Peter slept disillusioned.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourteen year old Peter tries to survive now that he has no apartment to go home to.

Disclaimer: Peter Parker is not my creation, nor do I earn money off of this story. As sad as both of those statements are. 

CHAPTER FIVE

JANUARY 2014

Peter had two duffel bags walking out of the apartment for the last time. He settled it on my shoulders, and felt the chill of the early morning.

He had emailed a man about a run down apartment in Queens, his prefered location. It was tiny, but Peter was more than okay with that. He told the man that his relative was coming into town the following week and he was securing it for him.

So Peter walked to the subway, physically weighed down by everything he owned. He tried not to think about how strange it looked that a fourteen year old boy was walking down the street with two large bags.

He sighed.

Thirty minutes later, he knocked on the door of the apartment. It was an older African American man, who cocked his head when he looked at Peter.

The area was terrible and run down, but at least it could be a home. Peter could take care of himself, physically that is.

"You Peter?" the man asked, "You didn't tell me you were twelve."

"I'm not twelve," Peter swallowed.

The man raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure about that."

"I think I would know my own age," Peter snapped back, then immediately regretted it.

The man laughed at him, thankfully. "You got guts kid. I'm not sure about this. You said you relative was coming into town."

Peter shook his head viciously. "Yes, my uncle will be here in a couple of days."

The man raised his eyebrows at Peter, "I'm not sure about this, kid. I don't like the idea of having of having someone as young as you alone in here."

Peter insisted, "I'm not a child. And I can pay the rent up front if need be. I have the money."

The man looked critically at him, "You have no uncle, do you?"

The look on Peter's face must have said it all. The man sat down in the wooden chair that adored a small two person table. He sighed at Peter and looked at him critically. "Sit down boy."

Peter sat down.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked, "You're young, whatever is wrong at home can be fixed. You shouldn't be here alone."

Peter looked at his hands silently thinking about what to tell the man. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself, as if not having family was something to be ashamed of.

"They're dead," Peter said simply. "I want nothing more than to go home, but I don't have a home."

The older man must have seen something in Peter because he put a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry kid. Did you run away from the foster system."

Peter nodded, that was not the truth, but it was close enough.

"I see a lot of you guys. Okay," the man looked him in the eye sharply, "Here's the deal- and I'm nicer than most you will come across- I can't lose money on this apartment, this is my livelihood too. As long as you pay, you can stay here. The second you don't, I'm calling social services and I'm going to sit with you and make sure that you go somewhere safe. Do you like that deal?"

Peter could barely believe the kindness of the man. These were the people he put the suit on everyday for.

"Thank you, sir, thank you so much."

"Don't thank me Peter," the man told him, "Somebody needs to look out for you kids. God knows parents aren't these days."

Peter smiled at him, feeling himself relax in the man's presence. "So," the man continued. "My name is Jacob Davis. I go by Jacob. My number is one the fridge. If anything is wrong with the apartment, you call that. The last friday of every month, I expect you to-" the man paused, looking at him critically- "You don't know how to do electronic billing do you?"

Peter shook his head.

"Okay," the man said, "then in your case, I expect $700 in an envelope. I will come get it for you. I live on premise, I'm three floors above you, appartment number 560. You can always come and knock on the door. I don't like to be disturbed in the middle of the night, but don't let that deter you if something is seriously wrong."

"$700?" Peter asked. That was $120 dollars less than the price that was advertised on craigslist.

The man looked at him critically. They both knew what he was asking. "Yes," the man confirmed.

"Everything clear," Jacob asked.

"Yes, Mr. Davis. Thank you."

"Jacob, kid. Call me Jacob."

…

As soon as Jacob left, Peter dropped his stuff onto the ground and looked around. It was open style. There was no furniture, bar the tiny kitchen table he was sitting at. As soon as one entered the apartment, they would find themselves in the middle of the kitchen. There was an oven and refrigerator and Peter was glad he didn't have to worry about that.

Sadly, there was no microwave, but Peter could probably get one for less than a hundred. All the appliances were lined up along the right wall and there was just enough space between the refrigerator, which was shoved into the corner next to the door, and the oven for a small sink and a tiny amount of counter space. On the left side, there was a blank wall.

Passing through the kitchen, the small table was lined next to the stove. Then there was another hundred square feet of empty room. There was a door on the left which Peter opened to a tiny bathroom that had a toilet and shower. It was old, but clean. There was no bathroom sink, so Peter would have to wash his hands in the kitchen. That wouldn't be the worst seeing that it was another five steps.

Peter was ecstatic to have a place, despite how run down it was. He was no longer homeless, and he never had to sleep in the streets or spend his savings on a hotel room. He had no blankets or a washer and dryer. There was also no bed, which Peter realized might be an issue.

Even buying one on craigslist seemed like an expense he couldn't really pay. Maybe he should buy an air mattress or something.

Peter took out his phone. Staring at it, he realized that he would need to cancel his carrier. It was under his aunt's name, so he would have to go in and explain that she died to AT&T.

He set up his laptop. He realized he had no wifi. On a hunch, he looked at the fridge. Sitting there is read: wifi code- JRC467FT. Peter typed it in. It was slow, but it was internet. If Peter really needed to do anything fast on the web, he would need to go to a free wifi spot.

He googled walmart. There showed one three blocks over.

Peter grabbed the keys on the counter, looked at the place that was now his and left the apartment.

…

Peter walked through the aisles of Walmart finally stopping at the air mattress section. There was a fifteen dollar one with a pump. He placed it in his cart. He similarly went over to the sheet section. At this point, Peter wished he had kept the ones ones from his house, but hindsight was 20-20.

He grabbed at thirteen dollar set in gray and a black fifteen dollar comforter. A pillow and pillow case was added to the cart.

"Almost done," Peter said outloud.

"Getting stuff to college?" the woman standing next to him asked.

"No." Peter shook his head.

"Yeah," the woman said, "You look too young. Well, have a good day." The woman walked away. Peter wasn't used to shopping on his own. Most of the time, he went with his aunt, or she took care of it for him.

He pushed the cart over to the kitchen supplies. He grabbed the $35 dollar Hamilton beach one. Then he bought a knife set, forks and knives, two bowls and two plates, a couple of glasses, and looking down at his cart, he realized that this would be really hard to take back to the apartment.

Peter knew he had to grab something for meals that day, so he wandered over to the frozen isle. For simplicity sake, he bought a frozen pizza. He knew he will be forced to learn to cook fairly soon, but he would sooner handle corrosive chemicals than a kitchen stove.

A little over a hundred dollars later, Peter walked out of the store, bags dangling on his arms as he wrapped them around the microwave.

Trekking back to his apartment, he noticed a group males circling around him.

"What's a white boy like you in this type of neighborhood?" One of them, ironically also white, asked him. Peter knew he looked a bit preppy with his slicked over hair style and very much picked out by his aunt clothing.

Peter smiled at them. He just wanted to get back to his apartment, not fight.

"If you will excuse me," he tried to push through the ring they had made around him.

"How about you give us the stuff you have in your hands," one of the boys said, "and we might think about letting you get through without too much blood."

Peter sighed, "I didn't want to have to do this." And Peter didn't. Using his Spidey powers without his suit also was a danger. Who knows who might connect the dots.

The leader cocked his head, "Do what? Get you white ass whipped. Maybe you should think about not walking alone without you mama to protect you."

Peter backed up a little bit, his back hitting the wall. His mind raced as he went over the options.

Then suddenly, he heard Jacob's voice. "Boys, you harassing my new tenant?"

The leader's eyes shifted over to the older man. He said nothing, but Peter could tell there was something akin to respect in them. That however, was also mixed with annoyance.

"Jacob," the kid said, "why do you have to interfere."

"I house you all on the condition that you do not harm the others living in the building. I would suggest leaving if you want to have a continued place to live."

"You lucky kid," the leader of the group spit at him. Peter righted himself as the group dispersed.

"What were you thinking?" Jacob snapped at him.

"I can take care of myself," Peter grumbled.

"Never, walk around with that much money in items. You are asking to be robbed."

Peter nodded at him. "I'm sorry."

Jacob rolled his eyes, "Don't be, just don't get yourself killed. It would be a shame to find another tenant so soon. Let me help you get that stuff up," Jacob grabbed the microwave off the top.

It was heavy and yet Jacob carried it up the stairs no problem. Placing in on the table, Jacob turned to Peter, "Come to my place for dinner. You haven't settled in yet, and you need to eat a good meal." He glanced over Peter's small frame which was drowned in a long sleeve baggy shirt and ill fitting jeans.

Peter couldn't wear anything tight for fear that people would connect how his physiology had changed overnight. It was worrying enough to change in the locker room with his skin always being varying shades of black, purple, blue, green from slamming into walls. Peter was made fun of by the other boys because he changed in the bathroom stalls.

Flash was one of those people. He gave Peter shit about it and called him names such sissy boy and faggot. Peter told Flash that if he was going to pick on him, he should at least not insult a whole group of people and that being called gay was not an insult.

That did not go over well. Peter stood still as his Spider sense went on overdrive as Flash plowed his fist into his nose. Peter's nose broke, but seeing as if had repaired in three hours, it was not worth the trip to the nurse and the headache that it would cause.

Peter would rather Flash beat up on him that another poor innocent kid that lacked the healing factor that Peter had.

Peter spider sense had yet to go off around Jacob and it genuinely seemed as if the older gentleman was trying to be nice. Peter nodded at him.

"Thank you," Peter said out loud, "What time do you want me to show up."

"Say how about six thirty?" the man said.

….

Peter needed to eat lunch. He grabbed the pizza out of the his Walmart bag. He stared at if for a moment wondering how one did this. Time to get out trusty google. Preheat the oven, take it out of the shrink wrap. Place it on the middle rack.

Peter could do this, he believed in himself. Ironically Peter feared this more than staring down the barrel of a gun, but he needed to eat. Necessity was the mother of invention.

While the pizza was in the oven, Peter started to unpack. He hooked up the microwave and pushed it to the back of the clear counter space. He unpacked the bowls, forks, knives, and glasses. Peter then unpacked the blow up mattress and used to hand pump to get it to shape. He put the sheets and it finally looked a little bit like a room.

He finally unzipped his duffle bags when the open timer rang. Peter went and turned it off, realizing he didn't have an oven mit.

He sucked in a breath realizing her would have to ask a neighbor.

He closed his eyes and tried to listen in through the walls. It sounded like a mother and a small child lived to his right.

He knocked on their door. The woman who answered looked young twenties. Her hair was ragged and she looked like she was dressed from coming back from a waiting job.

"What?" she snapped at him.

"Excuse me ma'am," Peter smiled his goofy grin, "I just moved in next door and I forgot to pack an oven mitt. I was wondering if I could borrow one."

A little girl peeked behind the woman's legs. She looked to be about five. She had big brown eyes like her mother. Peter smiled at the child who ducked out of sight as soon as she realized she had been seen.

The woman pursed her lips. "Bring it back."

"Thank you," Peter said exuberantly, "My name is Peter."

The woman gave him a dark look as she opened her top drawer of her kitchenette. She handed Peter the oven mitt. "I don't care what you name is," the snapped harshly, and closed the door.

Well, Peter thought, she was plenty pleasant.

He went back; he ate; he unpacked his clothes in neat stacks on the floor. He took out a couple of posters he had rolled up from his old room and stuck them on the walls. He unpacked a couple of frames with pictures of Peter with his aunt and uncle. He had most of the old photos scanned on his laptop.

Peter had never been as happy for that project he had undertaken a couple of years ago when he wanted to print his aunt a shutterfly book for Christmas and had scanned every photo they owned. Now Peter had them stored in a third party storage online and on a hard drive backup. He would not lose them.

There was only one overhead light in the apartment, and Peter would need to pick up a cheap lamp. He clicked on the notes on his phone. So far, he needed a lamp and an oven mitt. There was sure to be more.

It was now three in the afternoon and Peter planed on going out that night as Spider-man. He plugged his phone in the wall with his charger and set an alarm for 6:15. He would nap now, eat, come back and nap for another hour, then go out. Yes, Peter decided, that would be his plan.

He smiled to himself as he looked around the room. This was his home now. He had somewhere he come back to after school. He had somewhere he could sleep when he needed to. He might still be alone, but he wasn't lost or helpless.

Peter Parker let out a deep sigh of relief; he would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wait. Just got home from college and have been working full time and am exhausted at night. I have half of the next chapter done, so I will get to the crazy fallout. Young Peter needed a break, and I gave him one here. If any of you have any suggestions I would love to hear them. I love engagment and try to get back to your comments. If I missed any, my apologies!
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Love you much
> 
> Emm


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter you all have been waiting for!

Disclaimer: Nah, darling Peter is not my character. As much fun as he is make stories with. Nor do I own any other of these Marvel properties.

CHAPTER SIX

DECEMBER 2016

Peter Parker was far from okay. He was the furthest thing from it. In fact, Peter hadn't felt this out of control since he was fourteen.

He had woken up that morning without a clue on what was to come. He got up and jumped in the shower for fifteen minutes, got dressed, gelled his hair, made himself breakfast and all-over prepared himself for a normal day.

It was not a normal day.

Peter walked to the steps of his school to find a hoard of reporters. "Mr. Parker, what do you have to say about the accusations of you being Spider-man?" one of them called out. Another said, "Peter, Peter, how do you do it? It it genetics? Mutations? Are you human?"

Peter was not prepared for it. His eyes grew wide and he started to take micro steps backwards. Should he run? Should he try and force his way into school?

Peter had no idea. He was not prepared for this.

Then from behind him, a familiar voice called out, "Who would have thought that the itsy bitsy spider would be an itsy bitsy baby."

Peter felt his entire world shift around him. Nothing would be the same anymore. Peter's normal was fucked.

Should he try and deny it? Vulture was here and he need to protect the citizens even if they were being annoying. Peter himself had been part of the press at one point. The people were just doing their jobs.

"Well," Peter's voice took on the sharper lit that he used in the mask compared to his meeker Peter Parker voice. He was Spider-man in that moment, "If anything, I think my age should be a testament of how terrible you are as a villain."

The vulture looked furious. "I'm going to kill you Parker."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, and what have you been trying to do for year?" Peter turned to the group of reporters. "Now would be a good time to disperse."

Some nodded and ran, but the majority stood there looking at them wide eyed. Idiots, the lot of them.

"How about you just go away and we can forget about this whole thing," Peter told the Vulture.

The Vulture growled at him- a grown ass man in a vulture suit growled at him. "How about you just give up?" the man said.

Peter snorted. He thought not. "I tired right?" he asked the reporters, "You will attest to the fact that I tried to talk him down first." They gave him blank stares again.

The Vulture decided he had enough of this banter and decided to attack the reporter of course. Because the inalienable laws of karma say: if civilians are in the line of fire, they themselves will be attacked.

So Peter jumped in front of the Vulture, his webslingers coming out from under his shirt, and attaching to the side of his suit.

Yanking the Vulture towards Peter, Peter used the kinetic energy of the man to springboard towards him knock into him with his feet. Now literally being on top of the Vulture, straddling his head, Peter reached down into the control panel of the Vulture and punched. They both started to fall out of the air.

They were maybe ten feet, but seeing how Peter did not want to slam into the ground, or even have the vulture slam into the ground, he threw out a web towards the school building. It attached and Peter swung them both to the ground.

The Vulture tried to shake him off, and Peter went "Woah boy. Do you think I can make it the eight seconds?"

He then flipped backwards off the the man. The Vulture turned lumbering and swung a punch at his head. Peter ducked away from that as his Spider-sense went off. Then he did it again and again.

"I can do this all day," Peter said, "but seeing as I don't have all day…" Peter went ducked underneath the next punch, kneed the man in the side and as he reacted to the hit, used his webbing to bind the man's hands and body.

The Vulture fell to to ground wrapped like a Spider's meal.

"Well, that was just sad," Peter said, looking down at the man. "My first fight after coming out has to be with someone this incompetent."

"Well," Peter grinned at the reporters, "You got your story, and it seems like I need to bail. Chao."

Swinging away from the reporters, Peter felt so out of place in his plain clothes. He swung onto a rooftop, and changed out of his pants and top revealing his suit underneath. He added his gloves and boot socks. Both were incredibly thin seeing as Peter's sticking ability couldn't work through something like rubber.

He couldn't go back to his place. Although it was registered under an alias of his, the Avengers had already found it and would probably be waiting for him.

He needed to lie low until the world made a decision on whether or not his actions were legal. Peter did not want to get arrested. Him in the prison system was terrifying. The second he went to sleep he would die.

Peter swung down to street level after twenty or so blocks and shifted back into his plain clothes. He threw up the sweatshirt hood. He needed a hat and glasses. He ducked into the first touristy store.

They were playing his "breaking news" on the TV in the shop. The reporter said, "It has broken that Peter Parker is identified to be Spider-man. What do we know about this kid?" She enunciated kid as if it was something unbelievable.

"He's brilliant that's for sure," the other reporter said, "He is shown to be in line for valedictorian of his school and doesn't go there but for one class every other day. Not much is known about his family. His parents are missing and have been for twelve years. He went and lived with his aunt and uncle. His uncle died in a convenience store robbery gone wrong and his aunt died of cancer less than a year later. He's lost two sets of parents. A complete orphan. After that, we lose trace of his living conditions. This kid literally has no one."

"Crazy isn't it?" the man behind the counter said. "Spider-man being underage. Just thinking about how he popped up three years ago and how young he must have been." Peter ducked his head.

"Yeah," he said gruffly.

He placed a hat and a pair of glasses on the counter. They were touristy, but that was fine. Then he also placed a twenty dollar bill on the counter that would cover it all. "Keep the change." Peter told him and hightailed it out of the shop.

He had a storage until in Long Island that had everything he would need to disappear for a couple of days until he could make a plan of action.

Wearing the disguise, nothing of his face was really visible. He jumped on the subway going out. He still had his school bag which was just a plain black Jansport, so not too recognizable. He took out of pair of headphones, and started to put them in his phone.

Fuck, Peter through. His phone. He would need to ditch his phone.

At the next shop Peter got out, threw it on the trash, and got back on the next subway. Soon, he was gone and he hoped he would be hard to find.

….

The Avengers were gathered for a morning meeting. Even Fury was supposed to be there.

"So," Tony said, "We're all idiots and Spider-man was under our noses."

"The boy moved like a warrior. I should have known," Natasha commented.

"I am saddened I did not get to meet this Man of Spiders. He is young to be such a prolific warrior." Thor voice boomed around the room. Tony rolled his eyes.

The meeting room was stark white and the chair were uncomfortable. Tony had a suspicion that those things were done on purpose. To make them more bored that was.

Fury entered the room with his long trench coat trailing behind him. Tony thought that was his super power; his magnificent expressive trench coat.

"Peter Parker has gone off grid. Have you covered his background?" Fury asked.

They shook their head. What did expect them to do, actually get things done without them. Even spangles didn't really have energy to do things without Fury. Fury was like their school teacher.

"Fine. Peter Parker is seventeen years old. He is a senior at Midtown High. He is slated to be valedictorian. He owns three different business endeavors: Pete May Designs, The Benjamin Richards Corporation, and the Uncle Ben Foundation. All of his relatives are dead."

Fury paused to look at them intently with his eye. "His parents, Richard and May Parker's, are listed as missing. I do not believe that Peter know this, but they were shield agents who were killed on a mission. His uncle and aunt took him in at five years old and raised him as their own. His uncle dies at a convenience store robbery right before he becomes spider-man. Less than six months later his aunt dies of cancer. At fourteen, Peter drops off grid, only showing up to school until Pete May Designs comes into business. Only through looking into his financials did we even figure out the connection."

Tony whistled, "Wow, good on the kid. Even I don't think I would have done this well alone. Mind you at fourteen I was at MIT."

Spangles rolled his eyes at Tony. "Yeah, Tony we all know. So, Furt, should we be worried about Peter as a threat."

Fury shook his head, "I don't believe so. He has a death count, but it is extremely low for being active for as long as he has been. He seems to show a wisdom beyond his years when fighting and has an extremely idealistic take on the world. Peter Parker is not a threat, but Peter Parker might be in danger."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, sitting back in his chair.

"The newspaper have been smearing him for years. Right now, they are calling for his arrest. We need to turn to media against that- use Peter's age as a tool. He's not a legal adult. Tony, I would like you to put in a request to become his temporary guardian. Make up some bullshit about knowing his father and wanting to help him continue to develop his science talents. We can't have him legally under the control of someone nefarious. If not only for Peter's sake, but BRC is one of the biggest medical donors in the world and its think tank could easily be used for less clean and positive purposes."

Tony nodded, as long as he didn't have to take care of the child he would.

"We need to find Peter before other sources do," Steve said.

Tony nodded. He agreed with that.

"Last known whereabouts?" Natasha asked.

….

Miles and miles away, Peter entered a storage unit. It was paid for every month in cash and registered under a false name. This was Peter's safety net.

He closed it behind him. He had been careful to have his face down when he passed by any cameras on the way over. Who knows how powerful Stark's technology was as far as facial recognition went. Peter was not leaving it to chance. There was a briefcase full of a hundred thousand dollars cash, a couple sets of clothes, and a fake identity set.

He had digitally altered his picture on Photoshop to show him with black hair. It said: Caleb Ray Keenan. 18-year-old male. Peter grabbed the black die, the suitcase, the clip on earring, the clothes and headed out to find a hotel for the night.

After he died his hair, he would log onto to wifi at a Starbucks and try to piece together what had happened and make a plan what to do. Inside the bag he grabbed there was also a fake passport, but Peter wasn't that desperate yet.

He was Peter Parker. He was Spider-man. He had battled villains. He defeated the Goblin. He had watched Gwen almost die, get addicted to prescribed drugs, and cheat on him.

He had been low himself. There had been times in his life when he didn't know if he had money to eat another meal. He had gotten through two sets of parents dying and being bullied and having all the power in the world to stop it. He never got enough sleep and his head was perpetually pounding.

He survived all that and he could survive this.

This was just another challenge he had to face, and he would. Because he was fucking Spider-man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait before posting this chapter because I got it done so quickly, but I decided just to put it up.
> 
> So I searched and searched for a legit birthday for Peter and couldn't find one. If anyone knows, please let me know. I want to use a lot of homages to the source material. For now, I'm going to use Peter's birthday as being June 1st. (Which is also Tom Holland's birthday.) That means, he was fourteen doing into his freshman year, fifteen during his sophomore year, sixteen during his junior year, and seventeen in his senior year. Peter turns eighteen and becomes a legal adult after he graduates high school. So far the time time in the past is in January of 2014, the second semester of his freshman year, and in the future it is December 2016 Almost three years have passed.
> 
> I'm going to try and stay pretty in world in the sense that, for example if I reference a song, it will be one that came out in my time frame. On a side note, Peter was super fun to write in his more snarky voice this chapter. Let me know if the humor is hitting for you guys.
> 
> The story line in the past might accelerate at times, be warned. I'm trying to take on this concept semi-seriously. So I am working through things pretty methodically, trying not to make peter to much Gary-Sue. Somebody let me know if it goes too far. I want this grounded in reality.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and waiting patiently!
> 
> Emm


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is failing at being a good superhero. He has the good intentions down, but he lacks the finesse.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JANUARY 2013

Peter Parker realized that having minor precognition powers and super strength didn't make him a better fighter some time around being thrown into the fall for the millionth. He had mistaken the length between him and the person he was swinging after and his agility didn't stop him from slamming hard because of that mistake.

Peter groaned on the ground.

His head felt like it had been scrambled, but every second he lay here the criminal got further and further away in the car.

Peter wanted to groan, "Ten more minutes Aunt May," but it was far from his aunt telling him to get up for school. For every second he didn't get up, there more chance a civilian would get injured.

Sometimes great responsibility meant fighting through the pain.

Peter rolled to his feet and balanced on his toes, closed his eyes trying to get a hold of the pounding in his head. He said out loud, "Well that wall wasn't made out of marshmallows like I expected," and sprung up to catch up to the car.

Three minutes later he dropped onto the roof of the car. The criminal swerved trying to shake him off. Peter lowered his center of gravity hoping to combat the movement.

There was a police blockade developing in front of him. The criminal tried to turn right instead to avoid it.

Peter called out, "Just when I thought my night couldn't get worse, you go and make a right turn."

He leapt forward, half summer saluting, half using his agility. Synonymously, he shoot out both of his web shooter pulling himself to stand in front of the car at the intersection.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath realizing that the car might slam into him.

Peter leap up at the last moment, flipping over the car. Well that didn't work. He shoot his web after the car, his webbing attacking onto the back hood.

He dug his heels into the ground, feeling the rug burn. Dammit, Peter thought, he would have to mend his suit later.

The ground buckled underneath him and the car slowed until the back hood popped off. Peter, however, had interrupted his path enough that the car tail spinned and towards a bunch a civilians on the sidewalk.

Peter jumped into action. He pulled one of the way with his web and swung another out of the way. The car had turned a hundred eighty degrees and the back end hit the edge of the sidewalk. It looked like it was going to flip.

Peter might want to stop the criminals, but he didn't want to kill them. He immediately used the webbing to attach to the car to stop it from flipping. It settled and for a second the world seemed to silent.

Peter was glad that it was so late out. He didn't want any more people in danger.

The police had moved to circle the car and Peter sighed out a breath as he realized that his job was over. He wanted to drop to the ground boneless, but it was still early in the night and there could be more to come.

Peter surveyed the aftermath from the air. There was a divot in the cement from where he had dug his heels and the woman he had pulled off to the side was holding her ankle. Peter grimaced. That wasn't his smoothest pursuit.

With his advanced hearing, Peter caught one of the police officers on the ground mutter, "Damn, Spider-man sure made a mess out of this one."

Peter felt almost ashamed.

….

Seven hour later Peter fell asleep taking his AP Chem test. Well, not during necessarily. It had constituted of a multiple choice portion one class and a practical portion the next. Peter had finished the multiple choice in twenty minutes and sitting in the dead quiet room, not allowed on his phone, made it so the second his head touched the desk, he was almost snoring.

Well, Peter hoped he hadn't snored; that would have been quiet embarrassing.

The bell rang and startled Peter out of his sleep. The teacher, Mr. Morrison, was a wiry man with old fashioned glasses and always dressed in slacks and a button up. He had, as he explained in a "get to know each other" during the first class of the year, graduated from MIT to which he had gotten a full ride. He had been inspired by his teachers growing up and had a full time job with the school and a part time job creating chemical patents for a think tank in the city. Teaching, he told the class, was his hobby.

Peter liked him for the most part despite having talked him individually only once or twice.

Mr. Morrison started speaking just as the bell rang, "Class, I want you to study hard for Wednesday. That will constitute for forty percent of the test, so don't think you can get through by just writing stuff down. You need to know the material in an applicable way. You will only have thirty minutes and the second half of class will be introducing the next unit. Parker, stay behind."

Peter blinked hard. He was very much a teacher's pet and not used to being called out. Something settled in his stomach.

Peter walked up to the front of the class.

Mr. Morrison said, "Peter, pull up a chair." He gestured to one of the shitty blue plastic chairs in the front row and Peter dragged one over to the teachers desk.

Peter's voice wavered as he spoke, "I really don't want to be late to AP Physics. We are reviewing for the test next week."

"I think your grade will be just fine Peter." Mr. Morrison smiled at him, and Peter started to get flighty. He spidey-sense wasn't going off, but he felt caged in.

"Did I do something wrong?" Peter asked, "I thought I had an A in the class…" Peter faded off his voice.

The teacher laughed. "Quite the opposite. You are bored out of your mind in this class. You're brilliant; you get things far quicker than any student I've ever taught. Us teachers in the science department are getting worried that you are becoming apathetic."

Peter started shaking his head. "I'm so sorry. If this is about me falling asleep I promise I will try and sleep more."

Mr. Morrison leaned forward to grab some papers. "This is the homework you turned in last week." He set the paper in front of both of him. It had some chemical formulas on it to which he was supposed to balance. Peter did just that, labeled what each formula was supposed to create, then improved upon them if they were really nonsense like a lot of them had been.

Peter had done that work in fifteen minutes.

Peter stared at the paper.

"Now, as I was saying," the teacher continued, "you have no purpose being in this class. You've gotten near a hundred percent on each test and I suspect the questions you got wrong were reading errors. And I'm not the only class. You have a hundred and two percent in AP Physics two. The average in that class for tests is sixty eight percent, and most of those kids are seniors trying to get into science colleges."

Peter hunched over. Science had been his entire life in seventh and eighth grade. He wished he had more time to take classes online like he used to, but with everything going on with superheroing, he put that on the far back burner.

Peter didn't understand what Mr. Morrison was trying to get at. "I don't understand what you want from me," Peter said.

"I have permission from you AP Physics and AP Biology teacher to spend this class giving you practice tests. We want to see what you know."

Peter suddenly didn't feel too sleepy- he wasn't quite as alert as if he had gotten a full eight hours of sleep, but his mind was spinning. Three hours later, Peter had gone through two of the three practice tests, the bubble and practical portion. He hand was killing him. He glanced up to the clock and saw that it was almost lunch.

Mr. Morrison had put him in a back room. Peter grabbed his papers and went to turn in the second practical. He had missed both AP Physics and AP Calc and was feeling mentally fatigued.

Peter knew the material, it was just a lot to go through.

The bell rang for the class Mr. Morrison was teaching and Peter walked up to his desk. "Finished the next one?" the man asked.

Peter nodded.

"We can finish this tomorrow if you want to go to you want to go to lunch and then your last class."

Peter, however, had a couple of questions. "What will you do if I know the material?"

Mr. Morrison shrugged, "We don't have a clear plan for you. It's really up to you Peter. You could go back to regular class and just sleep through them like you've been doing or we can design some sort of alternative program for you. Maybe you do research or work on some sort of project. Colleges like that."

Peter hadn't even begun to think about college. He could barely pay for his run down apartment in Queens much less having to think about having to pay for college.

Peter, however, felt like he needed to come clean with Mr. Morrison who seemed like he was just trying to help. "I don't fall asleep because I'm bored," Peter admitted, "I fall asleep because I'm not sleeping enough at home. My uncle just died." And aunt, he silently added.

Mr. Morrison's eyes softened, "My brother died from cancer last winter. I'm sorry son."

"He was my father," Peter admitted, "he supported me. My aunt is not really around and my parents are gone. I appreciate this."

"Well, get some sleep tonight and be ready for another one of these tomorrow. For now, your science homework is excused but do AP Calc. Michelle would be rather unhappy if her star student stopped trying hard in her class."

Peter smiled at him, "She's super nice."

"She's a good teacher," Mr. Morrison agreed. "Remember Peter we as teachers are here for your success. If you want to talk to me at any point, I'm here. And we have fantastic counselors in the office who I'm sure would give much better advice than me."

Peter immediately wanted to say "no" to the suggestion, but he forced himself to swallow and say, "I'll take that into consideration Mr. Morrison."

"Have a good lunch Peter."

"Thanks Mr. Morrison," he called almost running out of the classroom. His brain was fried, but he could really use some food right them.

He found an empty half of a long rectangular table in the cafeteria and sat down. He got the sack lunch he packed out of his backpack. He had made himself a PB&J and packed an orange and bag of almonds. His water bottle was still half full from the morning.

Flash decided that was the moment he would approach with all of his football friends. He was only a freshman, but his older brother was captain of the football team, and Flash had made it as a freshman. Peter would blame it on nepotism, if not for the fact that Flash had replaced the quarterback after he suffered from a leg injury and then led to team to win league.

Yeah, even Peter couldn't say anything snarky about that.

"What do you want?" Peter asked.

"Heard you fell asleep in class and Mr. Morrison made you stay behind. You losing your number one spot at school; can't handle it anymore."

"Flash, I can handle more in my sleep than you can while you're trying your hardest." Peter couldn't help himself.

"Puny Parker, you could be knocked over by a brisk wind," Flash sneered. The group of freshman around him had snickered at Peter comment and Flash looked dangerous; as if he was trying to save face. Not all of the boys looked completely comfortable picking on the small nerd eating alone.

There wasn't anything innately wrong with Peter. He just struggled to make friends with almost all of his classes consisting of upperclassmen, and most of the freshman standoffish because of the humors of his intelligence. They called him ranges of stuck up to arrogant, to nerdy and teacher's pet behind his back; or what they thought was behind his back and Peter could pick up with his advanced hearing.

It wasn't as if Peter could go out and make friends with his schedule being so fucked to hell from being Spider-man.

Peter decided it was time to diffuse the situation. "You're probably right Flash. A brisk wind would knock me right on my ass."

A few of his friends snorted. Flash reddened. Peter heard a voice to his right. "Flash Thompson, what would your brother think to see you setting a bad example for the boys and bullying a poor freshman?"

Everyone in the vicinity turned to see Jacob. He was heavy set, tall, and popular to boot. Flash Thompson could not bully Jacob Salvina. Jacob Salvina could bully Flash Thompson, except the older boy never would.

"He wouldn't care," Flash spit.

"Well, maybe not, but he is obligated to turn you into the office and you would receive suspension from the team. I don't think he would choose over being removed from team captain because that would happen if it got out he didn't say anything."

Flash swallowed hard. "If you tell him," he growled.

"I won't if you leave Peter alone." Flash and his buddies sulked off. Peter watched Jacob in awe.

The boy plopped himself down in front of Peter.

"So what did Mr. Morrison want to talk to you about today?"

"He wanted to test what I knew. He thought I was getting bored in class." Peter told him simply.

"Ah," Jacob laughed, "Well you are brilliant. Hey, you didn't come to the robotics meeting."

Peter fidgeted. Jacob had just rescued him from that mess of a situation.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Jacob told him, "We were assholes."

"Why are doing this?" Peter asked him, "I'm not a charity case."

Jacob shrugged, "You're fourteen, brilliant, and eating lunch alone. At one point I was fourteen and it would have meant the world to me if someone would have come and sat with me."

Peter looked at Jacob. He was everything he wished he could be as a hero; calm and collected, strong and smart. He radiated kindness.

Peter swallowed his pride and started up a conversation, "So what sort of robotics are you working on right now?"

….

There lived a devil in Hell's Kitchen and his name was Matt Murdock. He was fairly young at twenty seven and new to the whole superhero scene. His knuckles were constantly bloody and he only had one friend to his name.

That friend was currently wrapping those same knuckles in his appartment. "Why do you do this to yourself? I just don't understand Matt."

Why was the ultimate question of being a vigilante. What made a person don a mask, dress up in a costume and beat up criminals on the streets?

For Matt it was the unavoidability of the sounds of the city. It was impossible to explain to Foggy why he needed to do what he did; just that if he didn't he would go crazy from grief and guilt.

Matt stayed silent. Foggy opened his mouth again and could physically feel the vibrations coming through his throat and into the air. He said, "Have you heard about the new vigilante?"

Matt shook his head. He didn't normally read the news, imagine that.

"They're calling him Spider-man. He cropped up about six months ago, but he's finally getting real attention. He had a train wreck out of downtown last night. They are calling him a terror over at the Bugel."

"That newspaper is terrible."

"Tell me how you really feel Matty. But yeah, I agree. It seems like the person has his heart in the right place, but he just bungles it more than even you."

Matt was lucky he had some sort of training. Stick had spent four years with him teaching him everything he knew before he blew off to god-knows where. Matt had continued his training in the closed down gym. Nobody had bought up the space and Matt had fixed up the interior to be a place to train. Although he needed a space heater this time of year. He went out fighting now days with three pairs of socks on, although he feared that would compromise his "sight."

"I don't bungle things," Matt told Foggy.

"Sure," Foggy casually agreed, "and what was the whole thing with Fisk? Your ultimate plan."

Matt certainly bulged things, but he was getting better. It wasn't his fighting that was the problem.

"Maybe Spider-man just needs a teacher," Matt commented.

"Sure buddy," Foggy joked, "and you're going to teach him."

Matt shrugged. "Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to get this up- I had five straight nights of Christmas parties. So a couple things for this chapter.
> 
> I should probably get this out of the way because a couple of you guys had asked. I don't feel comfortable writing spider-widow. To me, Peter is still seventeen years old. Yes, he is a very mature seventeen, but that doesn't change his age. Natasha, especially in the comics, is almost seventy plus years old. I don't really subscribe to that age discrepancy. On top of that, MCU Natasha is fairly bland. I don't really think she is that strong of a character and Peter, more than anything, needs someone he can play off of. If you guys have any suggestions otherwise on who he should end up with, let me know!
> 
> Also, here is Peter's schedule for people who are visual:
> 
> 1.AP Chem
> 
> 2.AP Bio
> 
> 3.AP Physics II
> 
> 4.Geography
> 
> 5.AP Calc AB
> 
> 6.Literature
> 
> 7.Photography
> 
> 8.Gym
> 
> This means that one day he goes AP Chem, Physics, AP Calc, has lunch and then goes to photography. The next day, he has AP bio in the morning, geography, lit, lunch, and then guy. Classes should be about an hour and forty minutes and the school would start at 7:40 and end at 2:40, with an hour lunch.
> 
> I another note, I'm fairly sure football is not a winter sport in NYC, but for the sake of the story we live in fantasy land where that is true.
> 
> And then with Daredevil, I'm going with kind of AU post season one. I might have either Punisher or Elecktra show up, but it is mostly going to be focused on Peter. I'm setting up Matt as Peter's mentor if you haven't figured it out.
> 
> Anyways! Thank you all for reading. Hope you had a wonderful Christmas (or holidays!) and I will see you all next time :)
> 
> Emm


End file.
